Healing
by Yvi
Summary: [Wicked] Bookverse. Once Elphaba has gone off on her own in the Emerald City, her sister and roommate try to adapt to her absence at school. NessaroseGlinda.


**Disclaimer**: Gregory Maguire and L. Frank Baum own it all.

**Notes**: This was a strange little idea that bounced into my head when I got to wondering what it was like at Shiz after Elphaba left. It says in the book only that Glinda became Nessarose's surrogate sister and then Nessarose lost herself in religion. I decided to elaborate a little on the first part.

**Warning**: ­ This fic contains femslash. Nothing explicit—PG-13, if that—but if the concept or the pairing bothers you, then flutter away while you can. Also, this is a bookverse fic. Ergo, Nessa has no arms.

* * *

Glinda isn't a very good surrogate sister. She's too uncertain, too pampered, too lost herself to be able to offer very much. But Nessarose appreciates the effort.

Elphaba, once the link connecting the two of them, is no longer there to be a bridge. It isn't easy to adjust, but Glinda tries her best. Not so long ago, she would have done anything to be rid of her strange, sharp-tongued roommate. It's been an eventful year.

The room resounds with her absence, if such a thing is possible. Glinda tries not to notice there isn't anyone sitting half-buried in a stack of books, or writing furiously until bottle-green hands are streaked with inky ribbons, or snorting in disbelief at her latest hairstyle. It never works very well. An emerald-hued haze of emptiness has filtered over everything, and Glinda has never been good at solitude.

Unable to adapt for the first several days after Elphaba's flight, she leaves the room altogether, seeking solace, frivolity, and noise in MillaPfanneeandShenshen, anyone who will take her in, poor princess, and take her mind off things. But each morning upon returning, Elphaba's empty bed and untouched possessions catch at a place in her heart she never previously knew existed. Nanny says they'll soon be shipped home, but Glinda isn't sure if erasing every trace of her old roommate will prove beneficial or devastating.

* * *

Nessarose crosses her mind on occasion, accompanied by awkwardness and guilt and a general feeling of helplessness. She is the bereaved sister, after all, and surely it can't be any better a role than that of the bereaved roommate. Glinda has no idea how to act towards a bereaved sister, and therefore keeps her distance. It takes practice, as Nanny and Nessarose are still staying in the room next door.

"Is everything all right?" she ventures a few times, in passing. Nessarose always nods and sinks back against Nanny's omnipresent hand in a manner that makes Glinda wince and wonder why she opened her mouth to begin with.

It's a surprise to everyone, herself included, when she steels herself up one day after spending the night in Milla's room and asks Nessarose to lunch. They eat and make polite conversation until Glinda summons as much courtesy as she can and dares to ask if Nanny would mind letting them alone for a little while. "It's all right. We have things to talk about," Nessarose adds, unexpectedly.

Even more unexpectedly, Nanny doesn't argue, but seems to understand, and goes off to a nearby shop. ­

They sit in painful silence, Glinda looking lost and Nessarose looking martyred, and talk about absolutely nothing. "I had fun," Nessarose says as they prepare to leave. "Really, I did."

Her lies are as earnest as prayers and just as supplicating. Glinda has nothing to give but a rather strained smile.

* * *

Nessarose instigates the next outing a few days later, dropping her gaze and humbly asking, "Would you like to go out again, maybe?"

Glinda tries not to think about how alone she must feel, in spite of Nanny's perpetual companionship. "Of course."

It goes a little better this time. They talk of inconsequential things; the consequential ones are still too raw to be approached.

"I love the dress shops downtown," Glinda flutes. "They change the window displays _so_ often, and I would go every week to see what was new, even though Elphie used to…" She cuts herself short, not sure if mentioning Elphaba is the best of ideas.

"No need to censor yourself," Nessarose placidly tells her. "Say what you like about her; it's not as if she can stop you."

Glinda can't think of an answer to that. "You must miss her," she says finally, feeling unspeakably daft.

Nessarose only shrugs.

* * *

When Glinda has Nessarose over after class, neither one comments on Elphaba's empty half of the room. Glinda has tried to decorate over it, but to no avail. There's still something missing, and no amount of lace or velvet will cover that.

* * *

­­Nanny doesn't leave her Nessa, but she's always just a door away if Nessa leaves her. When Nessarose takes to spending more time in Glinda's room, Nanny takes it with a nod and a running commentary. "It's for the best," she tells Glinda, "that Nessa's branching out on her own," adding that of course Nanny herself will always be in the adjoining room if Nessa needs anything. "Company is good," Nanny says, stirring Nessarose's tea. "And I might be company enough, but now especially Nessa needs more than that. It should help heal the both of you."

Glinda wonders if this is really what healing feels like.

* * *

As always, there is schoolwork, which is at least something different to concentrate on. Nessarose has been contemplating sorcery courses.

"Sorcery is for the body's comfort," Nessarose says. "Religion is for the soul. The transient as opposed to the everlasting. I suppose the only way to understand the mechanisms of either is to study it."

"I guess that's true," Glinda answers. "Better to understand both instead of condemning one or the other." She wonders if Nessarose knows all the magic and praying in the world won't bring Elphaba back if Elphaba doesn't want to come.

* * *

Little by little, the awkwardness wears away, in small and surprising ways. Glinda goes next door one afternoon and is astounded to find Nessarose painting her nails, the tiny brush daintily held between the toes of the opposite foot. "I can do yours, if you like," she offers, completely unselfconsciously. "The first foot has to dry before I do the other."

Glinda grins and holds out her hand. "Only if I can do something for you."

Inevitably, they pool their wardrobes. Nessarose is giddy and Glinda is in her element. "You look wonderful," Glinda exclaims before dropping to her knees to adjust the skirt she had insisted Nessarose try. "Elphie would never let me touch her," she giggles. "I think she was afraid of what I might do."

She looks up and realizes Nessarose is crying—not the usual demure trickle of tears, but honestly _crying_, mouth stretched wide, sobbing like a little girl.

Glinda is accustomed to being the one others comfort, not the one doing the comforting, but she does what she can, proffering an abundance of handkerchiefs and hugs. She never even notices when Nessarose drips tears on her bodice and wrinkles her skirt in throwing herself on Glinda's bed.

­"Why did she have to go?" Nessarose's voice is hoarse with sobs and more plaintive than Glinda has ever heard it. "I wouldn't mind it so much if she'd at least told someone why. She's my _sister_."

Producing another handkerchief, Glinda seizes the first reply that comes to her. "Elphaba likes to think she doesn't need anyone."

"But she _does_. So much can happen out there, alone, especially to people too prideful to think so. I'd stop it all from reaching her if I knew how." Glinda knows this; she's heard Nessarose's prayers.

"It's all right, Nessie, it'll all be all right." She knows she's lying, talking about things she can't control. With incongruously sure movements, she smoothes back Nessarose's hair, kisses her on the cheek, the forehead, the lips, tasting tears with every touch.

They fall asleep that way, Glinda holding Nessarose as close as she can.

* * *

It becomes habitual, Nessarose spending her nights next door. Sometimes, absorbed in studies or conversation or laughter, they can almost forget Elphaba is no longer with them.

"I was there when she left," Glinda admits one night. "All she said was that she wouldn't come back to Madame Morrible's school; she didn't know herself where she would go. Even if she did, she wouldn't have risked anything by telling."

Nessarose sighs. "That's the way her mind always worked. She always had to single herself out before someone else did it for her." She pauses, and Glinda can almost see her physically pushing all thoughts of her sister out of her head. ­"I should get ready for bed."

"Here," Glinda tells her, and pulls out a spare nightgown.

Nessarose blushes slightly. "Thank you. I can go over and have Nanny do it."

"It's all right, you know," Glinda says quickly, with more certainty than she's felt in a long time. "It's all right."

Nessarose stays where she is.

It's difficult at first; Glinda has had none of Nanny's practice. Nessarose is patient when she touches her, undoing the dress, the petticoats, the underskirts. Glinda's nightgown proves to be a few inches too short on her, and the empty sleeves jerk at her sides like marionettes whenever she moves. Nessarose thanks her all the same, before wriggling under the blankets in a single well-honed maneuver.

* * *

Glinda can't imagine how she would live if she were to lose her arms. She would miss them too much. But Nessarose never had arms to begin with, so there is nothing for her to miss. She's dexterous in her own right, in the way she wraps her legs around Glinda's waist in what Glinda has come to realize is Nessarose's version of an embrace, in the way she rubs her face against Glinda's neck and shoulders like a cat, in the way she can undo even the most delicate buttons with her teeth. Exercising a devilish streak Glinda never knew Nessarose possessed, she always persists no matter how ticklish Glinda finds it to be. She's able to move the knobs at her shoulders a little, and sometimes does so while applying one to Glinda's back, which is one of the strangest sensations Glinda has ever experienced.

Nessarose's kisses are sometimes cautious, as if there are a hundred rules she's sure she must be breaking, and sometimes fervent, as if she's set on defying them all. Either way, there's a wall of faith within her, as strong or stronger than Elphaba's wall of intellect, and Glinda can never completely breach it, not with words and not with kisses. It still amazes her just how dissimilar the Thropp sisters are. Elphaba never believed in anything, while Nessarose's beliefs are her whole world.

But on these nights, there is no mention of sorcery, the Unnamed God, or Elphaba at all.

* * *

They're sitting on Glinda's floor, trying out a charm intended to turn flowerpots into fishbowls. "Sorcery isn't all that difficult," Nessarose claims. "All it requires is concentration and memorization, not conviction."

Glinda completes the transformation without a hitch, but Nessarose somehow manages to come up with a bowlful of water minus the bowl. It hovers cunningly in the air for a moment before falling and soaking her from head to lap.

For a few seconds, she sits there blinking dumbly. Glinda all but rolls on the floor laughing, collecting herself just long enough to choke out, "­"Not all that difficult, messy Nessie?" before setting herself off all over again.

Nessarose laughs herself, then, something she's been doing more and more frequently. "It can't be that bad, with practice. Besides, messes can be cleaned."

"Hard to say," Glinda giggles, and leans in for a kiss.

Glinda isn't a very good surrogate sister, but Nessarose can't bring herself to mind.


End file.
